Harry Carson was the defiant rock whose mere presence intimidated opponents and inspired the Giants alongside him, and it is no different, even now, at the end, for Ray Lewis.

It is The Great Intangible that hangs over Sunday night’s AFC Championship showdown in Foxborough, Mass., the X Factor that could threaten all of Bill Belichick’s X-and-O factors: How much can Lewis will his Ravens to the Super Bowl, and how badly do the men in the foxhole with him want to get him back to one before he bids a tearful goodbye?

You bet there were younger Giants, Lawrence Taylor and Phil Simms included, who wanted to help Carson, who had spent too much of the previous decade enduring the anguish of The Fumble and the agony of defeat, send him out the right way, with a ring. Lewis has one, but nobody around the Ravens thinks he’s greedy for craving another, right before the cheering stops.

“It’s not just about Ray, it’s about getting there, period,” Carson said, “but Ray certainly will be an inspiration when you’re sitting in that locker room prior to that game.”

It is Lewis who has carried the banner for the great middle or inside linebackers of yesteryear, from Sam Huff to Dick Butkus to Ray Nitschke to Joe Schmidt to Jack Lambert to Willie Lanier to Mike Singletary to Carson, etcetera.

“When I first met him, I was in awe of him,” Carson said, “but he was also in awe of me.”

This was before Carson was finally inducted into the Canton Hall of Fame, while Lewis was building his first-ballot Hall of Fame résumé.

“Whenever I would go places, people, just to make conversation, they would ask, ‘Who was the toughest player you’ve played against?’ or ‘Who was the toughest running back?’ ” Carson said. “Sometimes I’d get a question like, ‘Who do you like seeing play your position now?’ and I would say, ‘Ray Lewis.’”

It takes one throwback linebacker to appreciate another throwback middle linebacker, and the respect for one another is unspoken and unnecessary when they meet. “It’s like being in a fraternity, and you’re talking to a fraternity brother,” Carson said.

Carson remembers the first time he watched Lewis in the NFL.

“Just a lights-out linebacker all over the field,” he said. “Very active, and he was not afraid to hit you. … The position of middle linebacker is really a fading position, or a fading art, because not everybody can be an impact linebacker and play the middle of the defense, and be a signal caller and be a leader and all that stuff. And Ray uplifts and he inspires the guys he plays with. Not only does he talk the talk, he can walk the walk. If you’re gonna play that position, you have to be able to do your job, because if you don’t do your job, you can’t say anything to anybody else about what they’re not doing.”

Lewis has been the raging fire to Carson’s intractable ice.

“Ray is by far so much more flamboyant than I was with the dancing and everything,” Carson said, chuckling. “He verbalized himself more on the sideline and on the field than I did. I was trying to think about what I had to do. If there was something that needed to be said, I would say it. But Ray is one of those guys, he tries to be that focal point where guys can rally around. I was more of a drill sergeant who chewed people out if I needed to do it.”

Carson somehow lasted 13 years, suffered too many debilitating concussions to count in the violent world of the middle linebacker. Lewis has somehow lasted 17 years.

“You’ve got to have a lot of heart to play that throwback, mean middle linebacker position,” Carson said. “Ray Lewis is certainly following along the path of many of those guys who were great middle linebackers — not just linebackers, but middle linebackers.”

I asked Carson what Lewis’ legacy will be.

“Obviously, there are going to be some who will always equate Ray Lewis with what happened in Atlanta,” Carson said, referring to Lewis pleading guilty to obstruction of justice following the stabbing deaths of two men during a fight in 2000. “Some people will always look at him and have that in the back of their mind. But if you’re a football fan, you’re going to look at him and you’re going to have to say he’s one of the greatest middle linebackers in the game. In terms of longevity, in terms of effectiveness, Ray has been there for a long time, and that position, after a few years, you start to break down. He certainly has played at a high level for an extended period of time.”

I asked Carson why he didn’t come out and dance the way Lewis does during introductions.

He laughed and said: “That dance probably takes so much energy, by the time you’re done dancing, you’re wiped out and you’re tired! I did the whole Gatorade thing back in ’86, and some people might say it was sort of rubbing it in the nose of the opponent. I beg to differ. When you do something to single yourself out from the rest of the team, some people will say you’re not a team player and you have a huge ego and you’re about promoting yourself. For me, it was never about promoting myself or doing something that singled myself out. It was just about playing the game. It goes to show you the game has evolved, to not just the game of football, but really entertainment.”

So what does Carson think about Lewis’ dancing?

“I’m old school,” Carson said. “I think players should go out and play and let their play do the talking. But quite frankly, I am amused by it. Years ago I probably would have said, ‘Just play the game and don’t worry about doing all that stuff.’ But all the fans love it, teammates love it — who am I to have a problem with it?”

Lewis talked Thursday about going out on his own terms, with his brothers, yearning to hear the words, “The Ravens have won the Super Bowl,” one more time.

“It brings a different focus on a different brotherhood of why you fight now,” he said.